


Iron Giant

by Lennelle



Series: Deviant [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Sam Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Gen, detroit: become human au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle
Summary: Sam is a new model of android. He has no weaknesses, he makes no mistakes, he is programmed to complete his mission, no matter what. Androids have been going rogue all over the city and Sam has been tasked to hunt them down with his new, very human partner, Detective Dean Winchester.His first task: introduce himself to Winchester.





	Iron Giant

**Author's Note:**

> so I started playing d:bh and I needed to write a spn au for it 
> 
> I wrote this really quickly and didn't edit so if it sucks sorry

Sam knows that the temperature is 41F, but he wears no coat over his impeccable Cyberlife uniform. Rain spatters the fabric, sits on his skin. He suspects it is cold, a human's body would raise its hairs and shiver in reaction to the weather, Sam's skin remains smooth. Puddles ripple beneath his feet as he walks down the street. It's late, the dark sky illuminated by unnatural light. There are few people on the street, the ones he passes by stare at him, the blue light of the LED on his temple reflected on their pupils.

He offers the passing humans a friendly greeting. "Hello," he says, keeping his tone light. The correct response is for the humans to respond with their own  _hellos_ , but no replies come. He continues down the street and contemplates any errors in his communication, he finds none. Humans can be difficult to interpret sometimes, they rarely follow their own programming.

Sam pauses beneath an illuminated sign which leaves the puddles beneath vibrant orange.  _Harry's_ , the sign says. On the door, another sign tells him,  _no androids allowed._ Sam takes a moment to navigate this obstacle. He must obey humans, however, his mission comes first. He must find Detective Dean Winchester.

As soon as he steps inside, droplets sliding from his coat to spatter the stained wood floors, several pairs of eyes turn on him.

"Hey, didn't you see the sign out there, tin can?" barks the man behind the bar.

"Yes, I did," Sam answers matter-of-factly, and carries onward into the depths of the tiny bar. He scans the faces in the room, his systems search for them in the database and he pulls up several identifications.  _Ron Arnold, Jesse Ng, Tate Marlow, Andrew Mayfair._

No Detective Dean Winchester. He blinks, focuses his vision and zooms his sight further into the room. A man sits alone in a booth at the back, face turned away. Sam blinks his vision back to its default setting and approaches.

He scans the man before he can look up. The photograph in his database does not quite match the man before him. The man in the photograph is several years younger, hair cropped short and styled in the sleek way of any newly recruited officer. The man before him has lines around his eyes and a glass in his hand. Sam holds out his hand.

"My name is Sam," he introduces himself when Winchester does not speak. His hand lingers steady in the air, still untouched. "I am the android sent by Cyberlife to assist you on your case."

Winchester smacks Sam's hand away. "I didn't ask for  _assistance_ ," he scowls. "How the hell did you find me anyway?"

His expression is wary and Sam decides assurance is the correct antidote. "I went to the station and you were not there, your colleagues told me you may be drinking."

Winchester takes a drink. The scowl has not lifted from his face.

Sam dials his humour up by 20%. "Working hard or hardly working?" he asks.

Winchester squints at him. "What?"

Sam dials his humour down 20%. His mission presses at him, incomplete. "We should return to the station to work on the case," Sam advises. "There have been two instances reported in the last 24 hours which involve deviant androids."

"Look, man - whatever the fuck you are - I'm busy. Can we reschedule?"

"Of course. When is most convenient for you?"

"Never."

Sam detects sarcasm. He searches through his files for anything that might encourage Winchester to accompany him to the station. Sam watches Winchester down the last of his drink and slump more heavily into the booth. Sam analyses him, his blood-alcohol levels are beyond what is appropriate for working. Sam's mission will have to wait, he decides to task himself with improving their work relationship.

"Another for Detective Dean Winchester," Sam says to the bartender, and takes a seat opposite. 

"What are you doing?" Winchester asks. He gently bats his glass between his hands, the scrape of it across the wood is at an imperfect rhythm.

"I am buying you another drink," Sam explains. "That is what colleagues do."

A new glass of whiskey replaces the empty one between Winchester's palms. 

After a sip, Dean says, "We're not colleagues. You're just an appliance, okay? Like a vacuum cleaner or a microwave."

"Actually," Sam disagrees, "A vacuum cleaner or a microwave have very different components than - "

"Yeah, I don't actually care. Dude, are you really going to sit there and watch me drink? It's creepy."

"Understood," Sam says, and closes his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks with a sigh.

"I closed my eyes. Does this make you more comfortable?"

"No. Open your eyes, okay? There, that's marginally less weird."

The two of them stare at each other for a long time. After another sip of his drink, Winchester says, "If it weren't for the LED," he taps his temple, "I'd never suspect you weren't human. Well, aside from the creepy behaviour."

"My behavioural settings have been carefully selected to ensure I both fit in with law enforcement and make civilians more at ease."

Winchester raises an eyebrow. "Bang up job they did on you, Iron Giant."

More sarcasm, Sam notes.

Winchester continues, "How tall are you anyway?"

This is a simple question to answer. "Six feet and four inches."

The soft whistle Dean lets out is puzzling, but Sam files it away to analyse later. "What was your name again?" Winchester asks.

"Sam."

"Well, Sam," Dean says, raising his almost-empty glass. "Thanks for the drink."


End file.
